Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea
gloomier than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity
to European shores? Had he some recollections of his abandoned country?
If not, what did he feel? Remorse or regret? For a long while this
thought haunted my mind, and I had a kind of presentiment that before
long chance would betray the captain’s secrets.
The next day, the 1st of June, the _Nautilus_ continued the same
process. It was evidently seeking some particular spot in the ocean.
Captain Nemo took the sun’s altitude as he had done the day before. The
sea was beautiful, the sky clear. About eight miles to the east, a
large steam vessel could be discerned on the horizon. No flag fluttered
from its mast, and I could not discover its nationality. Some minutes
before the sun passed the meridian, Captain Nemo took his sextant, and
watched with great attention. The perfect rest of the water greatly
helped the operation. The _Nautilus_ was motionless; it neither rolled
nor pitched.
I was on the platform when the altitude was taken, and the Captain
pronounced these words: “It is here.”
He turned and went below. Had he seen the vessel which was changing its
course and seemed to be nearing us? I could not tell. I returned to the
saloon. The panels closed, I heard the hissing of the water in the
reservoirs. The _Nautilus_ began to sink, following a vertical line,
for its screw communicated no motion to it. Some minutes later it
stopped at a depth of more than 420 fathoms, resting on the ground. The
luminous ceiling was darkened, then the panels were opened, and through
the glass I saw the sea brilliantly illuminated by the rays of our
lantern for at least half a mile round us.
I looked to the port side, and saw nothing but an immensity of quiet
waters. But to starboard, on the bottom appeared a large protuberance,
which at once attracted my attention. One would have thought it a ruin
buried under a coating of white shells, much resembling a covering of
snow. Upon examining the mass attentively, I could recognise the
ever-thickening form of a vessel bare of its masts, which must have
sunk. It certainly belonged to past times. This wreck, to be thus
encrusted with the lime of the water, must already be able to count
many years passed at the bottom of the ocean.
What was this vessel? Why did the _Nautilus_ visit its tomb? Could it
have been aught but a shipwreck which had drawn it under the water? I
knew not what to think, when near me in a slow voice I heard Captain
Nemo say:
“At one time this ship was called the Marseillais. It carried
seventy-four guns, and was launched in 1762. In 1778, the 13th of
August, commanded by La Poype-Vertrieux, it fought boldly against the
Preston. In 1779, on the 4th of July, it was at the taking of Grenada,
with the squadron of Admiral Estaing. In 1781, on the 5th of September,
it took part in the battle of Comte de Grasse, in Chesapeake Bay. In
1794, the French Republic changed its name. On the 16th of April, in
the same year, it joined the squadron of Villaret Joyeuse, at Brest,
being entrusted with the escort of a cargo of corn coming from America,
under the command of Admiral Van Stebel. On the 11th and 12th Prairal
of the second year, this squadron fell in with an English vessel. Sir,
to-day is the 13th Prairal, the first of June, 1868. It is now
seventy-four years ago, day for day on this very spot, in latitude 47°
24′, longitude 17° 28′, that this vessel, after fighting heroically,
losing its three masts, with the water in its hold, and the third of
its crew disabled, preferred sinking with its 356 sailors to
surrendering; and, nailing its colours to the poop, disappeared under
the waves to the cry of ‘Long live the Republic!’”
“The Avenger!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, sir, the Avenger! A good name!” muttered Captain Nemo, crossing
his arms.
CHAPTER XXI
A HECATOMB
The way of describing this unlooked-for scene, the history of the
patriot ship, told at first so coldly, and the emotion with which this
strange man pronounced the last words, the name of the Avenger, the
significance of which could not escape me, all impressed itself deeply
on my mind. My eyes did not leave the Captain, who, with his hand
stretched out to sea, was watching with a glowing eye the glorious
wreck. Perhaps I was never to know who he was, from whence he came, or
where he was going to, but I saw the man move, and apart from the
_savant_. It was no common misanthropy which had shut Captain Nemo and
his companions within the _Nautilus_, but a hatred, either monstrous or
sublime, which time could never weaken. Did this hatred still seek for
vengeance? The future would soon teach me that. But the _Nautilus_ was
rising slowly to the surface of the sea, and the form of the Avenger
disappeared by degrees from my sight. Soon a slight rolling told me
that we were in the open air. At that moment a dull boom was heard. I
looked at the Captain. He did not move.
“Captain?” said I.
He did not answer. I left him and mounted the platform. Conseil and the
Canadian were already there.
“Where did that sound come from?” I asked.
“It was a gunshot,” replied Ned Land.
I looked in the direction of the vessel I had already seen. It was
nearing the _Nautilus_, and we could see that it was putting on steam.
It was within six miles of us.
“What is that ship, Ned?”
“By its rigging, and the height of its lower masts,” said the Canadian,
“I bet she is a ship-of-war. May it reach us; and, if necessary, sink
this cursed _Nautilus_.”
“Friend Ned,” replied Conseil, “what harm can it do to the _Nautilus?_
Can it attack it beneath the waves? Can its cannonade us at the bottom
of the sea?”
“Tell me, Ned,” said I, “can you recognise what country she belongs
to?”
The Canadian knitted his eyebrows, dropped his eyelids, and screwed up
the corners of his eyes, and for a few moments fixed a piercing look
upon the vessel.
“No, sir,” he replied; “I cannot tell what nation she belongs to, for
she shows no colours. But I can declare she is a man-of-war, for a long
pennant flutters from her main mast.”
For a quarter of an hour we watched the ship which was steaming towards
us. I could not, however, believe that she could see the _Nautilus_
from that distance; and still less that she could know what this
submarine engine was. Soon the Canadian informed me that she was a
large, armoured, two-decker ram. A thick black smoke was pouring from
her two funnels. Her closely-furled sails were stopped to her yards.
She hoisted no flag at her mizzen-peak. The distance prevented us from
distinguishing the colours of her pennant, which floated like a thin
ribbon. She advanced rapidly. If Captain Nemo allowed her to approach,
there was a chance of salvation for us.
“Sir,” said Ned Land, “if that vessel passes within a mile of us I
shall throw myself into the sea, and I should advise you to do the
same.”
I did not reply to the Canadian’s suggestion, but continued watching
the ship. Whether English, French, American, or Russian, she would be
sure to take us in if we could only reach her. Presently a white smoke
burst from the fore part of the vessel; some seconds after, the water,
agitated by the fall of a heavy body, splashed the stern of the
_Nautilus_, and shortly afterwards a loud explosion struck my ear.
“What! they are firing at us!” I exclaimed.
“So please you, sir,” said Ned, “they have recognised the unicorn, and
they are firing at us.”
“But,” I exclaimed, “surely they can see that there are men in the
case?”
“It is, perhaps, because of that,” replied Ned Land, looking at me.
A whole flood of light burst upon my mind. Doubtless they knew now how
to believe the stories of the pretended monster. No doubt, on board the
_Abraham Lincoln_, when the Canadian struck it with the harpoon,
Commander Farragut had recognised in the supposed narwhal a submarine
vessel, more dangerous than a supernatural cetacean. Yes, it must have
been so; and on every sea they were now seeking this engine of
destruction. Terrible indeed! if, as we supposed, Captain Nemo employed
the _Nautilus_ in works of vengeance. On the night when we were
imprisoned in that cell, in the midst of the Indian Ocean, had he not
attacked some vessel? The man buried in the coral cemetery, had he not
been a victim to the shock caused by the _Nautilus?_ Yes, I repeat it,
it must be so. One part of the mysterious existence of Captain Nemo had
been unveiled; and, if his identity had not been recognised, at least,
the nations united against him were no longer hunting a chimerical
creature, but a man who had vowed a deadly hatred against them. All the
formidable past rose before me. Instead of meeting friends on board the
approaching ship, we could only expect pitiless enemies. But the shot
rattled about us. Some of them struck the sea and ricochetted, losing
themselves in the distance. But none touched the _Nautilus_. The vessel
was not more than three miles from us. In spite of the serious
cannonade, Captain Nemo did not appear on the platform; but, if one of
the conical projectiles had struck the shell of the _Nautilus_, it
would have been fatal. The Canadian then said, “Sir, we must do all we
can to get out of this dilemma. Let us signal them. They will then,
perhaps, understand that we are honest folks.”
Ned Land took his handkerchief to wave in the air; but he had scarcely
displayed it, when he was struck down by an iron hand, and fell, in
spite of his great strength, upon the deck.
“Fool!” exclaimed the Captain, “do you wish to be pierced by the spur
of the _Nautilus_ before it is hurled at this vessel?”
Captain Nemo was terrible to hear; he was still more terrible to see.
His face was deadly pale, with a spasm at his heart. For an instant it
must have ceased to beat. His pupils were fearfully contracted. He did
not speak, he roared, as, with his body thrown forward, he wrung the
Canadian’s shoulders. Then, leaving him, and turning to the ship of
war, whose shot was still raining around him, he exclaimed, with a
powerful voice, “Ah, ship of an accursed nation, you know who I am! I
do not want your colours to know you by! Look! and I will show you
mine!”
And on the fore part of the platform Captain Nemo unfurled a black
flag, similar to the one he had placed at the South Pole. At that
moment a shot struck the shell of the _Nautilus_ obliquely, without
piercing it; and, rebounding near the Captain, was lost in the sea. He
shrugged his shoulders; and, addressing me, said shortly, “Go down, you
and your companions, go down!”
“Sir,” I cried, “are you going to attack this vessel?”
“Sir, I am going to sink it.”
“You will not do that?”
“I shall do it,” he replied coldly. “And I advise you not to judge me,
sir. Fate has shown you what you ought not to have seen. The attack has
begun; go down.”
“What is this vessel?”
“You do not know? Very well! so much the better! Its nationality to
you, at least, will be a secret. Go down!”
We could but obey. About fifteen of the sailors surrounded the Captain,
looking with implacable hatred at the vessel nearing them. One could
feel that the same desire of vengeance animated every soul. I went down
at the moment another projectile struck the _Nautilus_, and I heard the
Captain exclaim:
“Strike, mad vessel! Shower your useless shot! And then, you will not
escape the spur of the _Nautilus_. But it is not here that you shall
perish! I would not have your ruins mingle with those of the Avenger!”
I reached my room. The Captain and his second had remained on the
platform. The screw was set in motion, and the _Nautilus_, moving with
speed, was soon beyond the reach of the ship’s guns. But the pursuit
continued, and Captain Nemo contented himself with keeping his
distance.